In America, Every Man is Free: The New Old Folk of The Felice Brothers 

 

The Felice Brothers, an itinerant gaggle of kids mostly from outside of Woodstock, NY, talk, sing look and act as if they have emerged from the forest—Rip Van Winkle style—circa 1967. Or better yet—1867, or some other mythical time when “authentic” folk singers performed in chicken coops, were professional dice players and didn’t communicate much with the outside world. After at least two years living out of a bus, and propagating their folk mythology through two self-released albums, the Felice Brothers have signed to Conor Oberst’s Team Love label, and released an eponymous “brick and mortar” debut. 

Investigating the roots of American folk and rock and roll reveals a story of the struggle between the authentic and the inauthentic voice. Harry Smith, the archivist behind the Anthology of American Folk Music, sought to document the hidden pockets of the old time idiom in an effort to create a mythology no less immense than the early American literary greats: Hawthorne, Melville, Twain. Tonight, The Felice Brothers take the stage at Castaways for an early 8pm rock show; the slightly older, weirder Americans, Richie Stearns and Judy Hyman of the Horse Flies open. 

In the ‘60s, when white artists considered refraining from copping a feel of the truly storied struggle of the blues and the black blues idiom, they turned to the “authenticity” of Appalachia; the adoption was less exploitative if no less explicit. Greil Marcus, known mostly for Lipstick Traces and Invisible Republic, documented a strain of this movement in his underrated Mystery Train. He wrote: “there have been great American artists who have worked beyond the public’s ability to understand them easily, but none who have condescended to the public…This is a democratic desire (not completely unrelated to the all-time number one democratic desire for endless wealth and fame), and at its best it is an impulse to wholeness, an attempt not to deny diversity, or to hide from it, but to discover what it is that diverse people can authentically share.” 

Marcus’ hero in his documentary of the project to remake America through gathering stories is Randy Newman. Newman, tragically best known for his trifle “I Love L.A.” stands as the artist simultaneously most respectful and most sinister in digesting and transforming the American folk idiom. Populating his songs with characters from the margins of America: illiterates, bigots, racists, rapists, simpletons and freaks, Newman creates unsympathetic characters and allows them to make their strongest case. In the fetishization of America’s true nature, Newman praises as he mocks.  

The Felice Brothers would be easily at home in a Randy Newman song. Their music doesn’t merely wink at authenticity: earnestness is the band’s bread and butter. Their recently released record shares their backwoods American story; imagine Twice-Told Tales: The Musical. At over an hour, the album runs a bit long (it draws from the already self-released records and adds ten new ones), but it displays the promise of Randy Newman under the guise of The Band. Many songs match the inevitability of “Old Kentucky Home” and “Birmingham”—stories that, having germinated in the unexamined American imagination for decades, now scream to be told. 

And lead singer Ian Felice does a fair amount of screaming; when he’s not crooning or speaking, his vocal stylings can sure pack a wallop. Think Bob Dylan by way of Conor Oberst. The rest of the band is no slouch; it’s made up of Ian’s brothers: drummer Simone and accordionist and pianist James; as well as bass player (and dice player) Christmas (no joke!), and some fellow Greg. The Felice Brothers’ finest song, “Frankie’s Gun!” is a rambling and ramshackle tale of road-trips and betrayal—heavy on the slide piano and accordion. Another song, the lovely “Love Me Tenderly” cribs Newman’s “Simon Smith and the Amazing Dancing Bear.” 

When I caught up with James Felice on his brand new cell phone (as recently as early this year, members of the band allegedly conducted phone interviews via a pay phone outside a coffee shop where they couldn’t afford so much as a cup of coffee), he was quick to acknowledge a debt to Newman: “Randy Newman is my hero! I listen to him religiously and think he’s one of the most underappreciated composers for contributions to American music.” 

When I mentioned “Simon Smith,” Felice continued: “Wow. You kind of got us. You know, you’re the first person to catch that. I can’t speak for the whole band but I personally love Newman, and it was kind of a coincidence that it sounds similar. I guess when we made that song, I guess we kind of ripped off the melody there. But I just hope he likes the song; I think he would.” 

But the tradition in which the Felice Brothers are working encourages that re-contextualizing. “If you listen to the Delta Blues musicians, or other old time players, they were always reinterpreting the songs of others. And Bob [Dylan] of course was as well. He still sort of does it; but the first few albums were basically songs that were rewritten from the folk tradition.” 

The Felice Brothers’ most endearing quality is their earnestness—which is not to be confused with an attempt at authenticity. Queried about the “No Depression” movement, the lovers of so-called “authentic music,” Felice fired back: “We don’t care about trying to sound authentic. You know, I think once you start caring about sounding authentic then you’re not. We just play music and play the music we love to play. And if people think it’s authentic, then it is because we’re not sitting around and trying to manufacture what we do. And so I guess with this “Americana” thing—I guess that’s the kind of music we play but we don’t think about it that much.” 

Though no Deer Tick (easily the best thing to happen to indie folk-ragtime-rock in the last few years) The Felice Brothers are a welcome addition to the idiom. Catch them early tonight.